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Addam Thistle
Made by Jules. Appearance and Personality Addam is a tall man with a strong psychique, the result of years both fighting and leading men in the harshest conditions. His hands are large and calloused, with long, slender fingers uncharacteristic of a sellsword. Along the back of his sword-hand is a faint, thin scar which runs from his thumb-knuckle to his little finger. He possesses a rugged charm, his features weathered by his 'uncultivated' lifestyle. Unlike many members of the company, he does not wear their signature golden armbands, finding them impractical and uncomfortable. He instead wears simple clothes, a combination of leather and linen, with tall, sturdy riding boots. He is rarely seen without his sword and his dagger. Addam is measured in his responses but not lethargic or indecisive. He is not usually an angry man, preferring to be moderate in temperament. He is often pensieve, discerning in his actions and well-spoken for a rough man. Though he is anything but a septon, he still follows a strong code of personal morals that he inherited from both his late father Garret and his mentor Myles Toyne. He desires, above all else, to prove himself and redeem his name. He is driven by his beliefs and his dedication to those who have shown him loyalty. History The Heir The eldest son of Lord Garrett Thistle, Addam was born in 253 AC into a life of rigorous martial training and loyalty to Reach. House Thistle were loyal defenders of the Reach’s south against Dornish incursions for generations, serving House Tyrell even since the days of Aegon and his conquest. Their holding, Thorn’s Rest, was a key defensive position in the Red Mountains that stretched into the Reach, situated north-east of Sunhouse and south-west of Starfall. Even in these days of peace, the Thistles remained ever vigilant against their old foes, who sat just across the Torentine. Addam grew up with the stories of this strong tradition in his heart, the tapestries on the walls a constant reminder of their fervent loyalty to the Reach and its people. Under the tutelage of his father’s retainers and servants, he was a promising young heir, showing aptitude as a leader of men, both on the field of battle and around the hearth. Growing into adulthood, Addam was trained in the ways of the sword and shield alongside his twin cousins Garth and Lorent. The three were raised more like brothers than cousins, as Garth and Lorent’s father, Addam’s uncle, had died in a hunting accident when the boys were younger. Over the years, a rift formed between the three; why should their father have died and Addam’s lived? The boys were competent warriors; however it was clear that his cousin, Garth, showed greater skill with the sword. Over the years, Garth became bitter, told from a young age that he had been cheated from a title which he was worthier of. He was the better swordsman, rider and performed better in his studies with the maester. Garth was a popular boy, a stellar example of Reach chivalry and quickly gained the love of the people. The years passed, and the boys grew into men, moulded by hours of training under the swordsmen and knights that swore their allegiance to Lord Garrett. Addam was committed to the role, emboldened by the history of his house and the desire to gain the approval of his father. Lord Garrett was a stern man, brief in his speech and sparse in his compliments. He was also a fair man and a brilliant warrior, earning the adulation of his soldiers as a result of his prowess on the field. Addam had much to live up to. Two months had passed since his nineteenth name-day, the warm coastal winds laden with the smell of salt and sand. These winds brought with them stories of foreign lands and spices, but they also brought with them news that shocked Thorn’s Rest to its core. Garrett had taken a party up along the coast towards the Torrentine, patrolling the mountain passes. He had returned with an arrowhead lodged in his throat. He had died quickly, his jugular pierced by the broad head of the arrow. Stricken with grief but vigilant of his duty to his people, Addam took the mantle of lord and all the responsibilities that followed. His first act as lord was simple; the death of his father would not go unavenged. Addam called together the knights of the household and prepared for battle. He left the keep in Garth’s hands, who he trusted more than anyone in his time of need. The new Lord Addam led the troops into the mountains, the last memory of his father the sword that had still swung at his hip when his lifeless body was hauled through the castle gates. When they found the site of the battle, all that remained for them were abandoned weapons and old tracks. They searched for a few hours, hoping to find any trail or hint towards the location of their foes. Unsuccessful, they rode back to the keep. The Exile The grounds were silent by the time they returned, weary from the ride and disheartened by their failure at avenging the late lord's death. As they arrived, confusion set in among the party; the garrison was empty. Panicked, Addam inquired with the household staff; Garth had mounted an expedition of his own, taking with him Lorent and much of the garrison, leaving the keep unguarded. Apparently, Garth had accused their ancient enemies, the Dornish, for Garrett’s death and had decided to make an example of them. Angered by the insolence that had been displayed by his cousin, he departed in pursuit. He found the party as they prepared to ford the Torrentine. He confronted his cousins, who rode at the front of the column and demanded to know why they had betrayed his trust and abandoned the keep. Ordering the men to return home, he was met by insubordination. He and Garth dismounted and the altercation escalated. Blows were traded between the two as the men of the household watched on in silence. Lorent remained atop his horse, not moving a muscle as the two men scrabbled in the sand. Garth, driven by bitterness, drew his sword from his belt and swung at Addam. The slashes were sloppy, fuelled by anger and jealousy. In a fit of panic, Addam drew his own sword and attempted to block the oncoming strikes. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Addam attempted to parry his cousin’s strikes, only for his sword to glide along Garth’s and catch the man on the neck. Clutching at his bleeding throat, Garth’s eyes locked with Addam’s as he crumpled to the ground. The young lord, gripped by fear, dropped his sword and fell to his knees. Shock gripped the men, most of all Lorent, who let out a cry, swinging down to his quickly dying brother. He decried Addam as a murderer, who could muster no words, save for a quiet, rattled and repeated “I’m sorry”. The ride home was silent. Addam rode at the head of the group, his hands shaking the whole way home. Upon their return, the castle grounds were a mixture of anger, fear and sadness, the loss of their beloved Garth shaking them to their core. Two Thistles had died in one day, one at the hands of the new lord. Addam resigned to his quarters, where he spent the night sobbing in solitude. As the young lord wept, however, Lorent worked his revenge. He told the people of the garrison that Addam had murdered Garth in cold blood, a lie that many of the soldiers present supported. Thus it was decided; Addam would pay for his crimes in blood. Addam was roused from his bed by the cries of his guards, both killed by men they knew and trusted. Drowsy from his sleep, the young man struggled to his feet, straddling his bed as he stumbled in the dark. In the low light given by his bedside candle, he could just make out the frame of a large man, armed with a long, narrow sword. Taking up his father’s sword from his bedside, the two men engaged in a messy, quick confrontation. The larger man attacked first, swinging wildly in the poorly lit room. Struggling to defend himself, the wild strokes caught Addam across the hand, causing him to drop his sword. The bigger man crashed into him, sending Addam backwards onto his bed. After a brief struggle, Addam was able to place his sword between the man’s ribs, killing him. Having barely escaped with his life, the young man bandaged his hand with a torn piece of cloth from his bedsheets, retrieved his sword and entered the hallway. The clashing of steel and the cries of the dying echoed down the halls and in the courtyard, which was overrun by dissenters from the garrison. Finding a small group of loyal troops on his way, Addam battled through the courtyard, using the chaos that raged all around to his advantage. He insisted on standing and fighting with his few men, but the battle was lost before it truly ever began. With the keep nearly lost, the remaining loyal knights had either died or routed, fleeing into the night. With the choice of either death or retreat, Addam escaped to the stables. He rode through the night, ashamed at his failure to preserve his father’s legacy and the death of his cousin. Twice he stopped and debated returning to the keep, exhaustion rationalising the thought that perhaps the fight was not lost and that the tide could be turned. However, twice he rode on. His hand bled and screamed where it had been slashed, yet the pain was nothing compared to the constant, stabbing shame he felt. He was aimless; he had no family to ride to, nor any allies who would take him in. He rode north, following the mountains. For the next few days, he remained in the saddle, sleeping under trees and hedges and in rocky outcrops. ‘Lord’ no more, Addam was forced to live off what he could scrounge. He couldn’t bring himself to steal, even as hunger panged at his stomach, for he swore his father would be looking down on him and he refused to shame the man more. As he rode, the shame he felt turned to anger. Yet, funnily enough, it was not directed at his cousin, nor any of the men who had turned against him. It was at himself. He had been too weak to protect his people, he had always been the weaker warrior, he was the fool who had let his family’s legacy erupt in a cloud of smoke and he was the coward who had struck down his own family. So he rode onward, slumped in the saddle, letting the horse take him where it pleased. Withering to the bone, he traded his gloves for a lump of bread, then his gambeson for a watery broth and then his horse for a bed. Equipment that might have fetched a king’s ransom in a city marketplace barely earned him a meal and a straw cot in a poor farming village. In a fit of impudent rage, he traded his father’s sword for a barrel of cheap ale, which he drained to the bottom. Soon, all he had left were the clothes on his back, all of which were in ill-repair, torn by brambles or faded by the sun. Drunk and depressed, he departed again. He continued for days, his feet blistered and raw. As he walked, the warm, coastal lands of the south gave way to open plains and woodlands that characterised the Reach. Why was he running? Would he return and take back his holdings in a blaze of glory? No. He had traded his legacy for some stale bread and a barrel of ale. Collapsing among the roots of a tree, he decided to let death take him. Perhaps he would fade away in his sleep and not feel a thing. As he lay there, defeated, he heard a strange sound through his delirium. It was a familiar sound; the clash of steel and the cry of the dead or dying. Dazed, he blundered through the woods towards the noise. Barrelling into a forest clearing, he could make out four figures in the distance, locked in combat. Summoning the last of his strength, he ran to the aid of the lone defender. Catching them off-guard, he was able to charge into the back of one of the attackers and, despite his weakened state, he then took up the falchion of the fallen man and fought off the remaining bandits. Once they were safe, he learned the name of the man he had assisted; Ser Alyn Mullendore, the eldest son of Lord Mullendore. The young man had been out hunting in his family’s normally quiet holdings when he was beset by bandits who had killed his horse and planned to kill him. Noting his saviour’s state, Alyn suggested that the pair return to Uplands, the seat of House Mullendore. Addam complied, exhausted mentally and physically. With their business in the woods concluded, they returned towards the mountains together. The guardsmen atop the walls of Uplands were greeted by the curious sight of the lord’s heir and his newfound companion, a young, dirty man, covered from his to toe in scratches, bruises and mud. The aging Lord Mullendore was overwhelming in his thanks to the recent exile, welcoming him into his household with open arms. Uplands was a respectable holding which, though Addam did not care to admit it, put Thorn’s Rest to shame. Though it was no Casterly Rock or Storm’s End, Uplands was a testament to the wealth that many of the Reacher lords possessed. Addam stayed with the Mullendores for a good deal of time, though he was too ashamed to admit the truth behind his state and the heinous crime he had committed. He told them he was the second son of a landless knight and that he had left to find glory on the road, a story Lord Mullendore croaked his approval of and his daughters swooned at. Lying to such generous people tore him apart, but Addam knew that to tell the truth was to sign his own death-wish. The maester there was able to save his hand and, after some rest, he was able to wield a sword again, but a sickly slice still marred the back of his hand. Though Addam enjoyed his time with the Mullendores as best as he could, he found himself more and more uncomfortable with the hospitality he was receiving while he lied to his hosts’ faces. Thus, he decided to return to the road. Before he left, however, the ever-generous Mullendores gifted him a new set of clothes, a riding cloak, new boots and an old plough-horse from the fields. The day he left was an emotional one, as the young exile left behind a thankful old man, a good friend and a handful of smitten young women. As Uplands left his sight, Addam spotted a shape following him. The young Ser Alyn rode up alongside the departing warrior with a long, slender package on his lap. Saying his final goodbyes to the man he had come to respect, he passed him the package and wheeled around before Addam could object. Unwrapping the linen cover, he was almost overwhelmed by the emotions he felt; it was the old Lord Mullendore’s personal sword. He travelled as far east as he could, through the Reach and into the Stormlands, serving minor lords or merchants in exchange for board and food. He did not stay in one place for long, for he found that the longer he had to rest, the more that anger and shame gripped his body. He told no-one of his crime and of his betrayal, fearing that if he mentioned it, then retribution would certainly find him. Shame outweighed guilt; though he was angered by Lorent conspiring against him, he soon started to believe that he was responsible for Garth’s death. He began to drink heavily, spending more and more of the meagre coin he earned on cheap ale and poor wine. He woke every morning ashamed at the man he had become, the memory of the mighty history of House Thistle forever marred by betrayal and blood. He was ashamed to carry the sword of Lord Mullendore, who he had lied to time and time again. He pressed on east, becoming nothing more than a sword for hire, selling his sword to whichever fat lord needed a bandit dealt with or a cheap bodyguard for his rotten son. After weeks in the saddle, Addam found himself in the Weeping Town and, again, drunk himself into a stupor. Guilt and anger overwhelming him, he decided that his life was over. He made his way to the sad, cold beaches and dismounted from his horse, landing in the wet sand with a thud. He unstrapped his sword belt, hanging it from the saddle, and waded out into the cold water. The water was deep and when it reached his waist, he collapsed, letting the water surge around him. Breathing out, he felt his body beginning to numb before, finally, darkness grasped him. He floated in the void for what felt like an eternity, reconciling that, with his death, he would be forgiven for the death of Garth and the pain of Lorent’s betrayal would cease. From the darkness, however, he felt a touch. It was distant and rough, but had a certain warmth to it, like a candle in a dark room. Slowly, gradually, it grew. Then he was back. His lungs screamed as air returned to them, his muscles weak and limp. He could feel the faint touch of rain against his skin and the whistling of wind in his ears as he slowly started to come-to. Only one thing made sense to him; he was not dead. In fact, he was still alive. Opening his eyes, he was greeted by a blurry, unfamiliar face, which looked down on him with muted concern. A massive man loomed over him, peering into Addam’s glazed eyes. He saw the man’s mouth moving but heard nothing. After a few moments, he slipped into darkness again. The Reborn When he awoke the second time, it was to the familiar crackling of a fire and the hissing of dripping fat. Blinking himself awake, Addam peered around in a sleep-induced daze, memories coming back to him in disjointed fragments. He was in a small, dimly lit room, on a bed of blankets and straw. That was when he saw him. He was a massive man, built tall and strong like an oxen. To the confused Addam, he almost resembled one of the giants from the stories he had heard as a boy: he had large jug-ears, a crooked jaw and a ballooned nose, the result of countless breaks. Though he was a fearsome sight, he possessed a calmness and compassion that calmed Addam as he awoke. Kneeling beside the weak young man, the man introduced himself, baring a friendly smile. His name was Myles Toyne, the Captain-General of the Golden Company. He had stopped in the Weeping Town in search of work for him and his company but had found no luck. In fact, he had been making his way to the docks to return east when he spied a limp figure, floating out in the choppy waters. Without a second thought, he had dived into the freezing water. The large man admitted his fear that he was too late and that, instead of resuscitating the figure, he would instead be burying it. Addam introduced himself and thanked the mercenary profusely, who dismissed the thanks entirely. Toyne did, however, ask what had brought the Reachman to such circumstances. Addam was torn; though he was ashamed by his story, he felt like he owed his saviour the truth. So he told it, from start to finish. He spoke of his family, of his father’s death that he had yet to mourn and of the accidental death of his cousin. He spoke of Lorent’s betrayal and of the young lord’s flight from his home. He spoke of his time with the Mullendores and the guilt he felt. As he finished the tale, emotionally and physically exhausted, Addam sat up. He expected to see disgust or indignation upon the big man’s face, but what he saw instead shocked him to his core. The entire time, Myles had sat in perfect silence, his big brow furrowed in quiet understanding. He took pity upon the young exile and, rather than shun him, he simply retrieved the sword Addam had been given and placed it on the cot beside him, telling the Reachman that he set sail at dawn, should he want to join him. Addam, with no other choice, accepted the offer. The next few months were a blur. Following their departure from the Weeping Town, the pair, along with many of Myles’ retainers, returned to the Golden Company’s camp in Essos. From here, the Company travelled all over the eastern world, taking and fulfilling contracts for some of the most influential figures in history. Addam stayed by the Captain-General’s side the whole time, learning how to fight and to lead as he accompanied his mentor on countless campaigns. The young Reachman came to view Myles like a second father, learning the ways of war, but also empathy, honesty and loyalty. He also developed a strong bond with the men around him, namely a young, purple-haired sellsword by the name of Vogarro Rall. Over time, the two young sellswords became fast friends, fighting together across all of Essos, all the way from Braavos in the north, to Lys in the south and as far east as Mantarys. They built a bond like no other, trusting each other with their deepest secrets. The Company under Toyne thrived, winning victory after victory against men of all nations. Myles, though a strong leader and a fervent supporter of the Blackfyres, had deeply resented Maelys and his command of the Company, seeing the man as needlessly cruel and demonstrative. Instead, Myles commanded through respect and admiration, earning the loyalty of his men through his actions, not through threats. Addam, over the next few years, became a valued member of the Company, quickly ascending through the ranks due to his merit as a leader of men. During his third year with the company, at age 23, a contract was made between Tyrosh and the Golden Company, who had been tasked with the defeat a fleet of pirate vessels who were plaguing the Broken Arm and trade routes between Essos and Westeros. The leader of the pirate fleet had declared himself King of the Stepstones in an attempt to mimic Maelys the Monstrous and the Band of Nine. Ships from Dorne, the Reach and the Crownlands also joined Tyrosh, led by the Constaynes, Hightowers, Velaryons, Dalts and Jordaynes, to name a few. These houses feared that the occupation of the islands would prevent vital trade with Essos and thus pledged their support. Prior to the beginning of the war, Addam was made captain and placed in command of a large portion of the Company. The campaign lasted several months and, over this time, Addam and Vogarro’s friendship was truly cemented, the two leading men across the entire Stepstones. They fought shoulder to shoulder, gaining fame and glory for both themselves and the Company. The war culminated in the Battle of Bloodstones, one of the many to be fought on that hallowed island. The battle itself was extensive, fought both at sea and on the island. The Golden Company, aided by the independently aligned Westerosi knights, engaged the occupying force on the island while the ships provided by the Westerosi houses and Tyrosh engaged the pirate fleet at sea. The fighting on the island was brutal and bloody, as the Company had woefully underestimated the capabilities of the sellsails, who occupied many of the defensive positions and chokeholds across the island. Employing guerrilla tactics, the pirates bled the mercenaries as they battled through the island. Losses were high on both sides, but none could have anticipated just how high they would be. As the men fought their way into the keep and seat of the Sellsword King, they were ambushed by an overwhelming pirate force, who surrounded the attackers. Multiple attempts were made by the Westerosi and Golden Company troops to break out, but they were quickly encircled and a melee ensued. The fighting here was bloody, with the death-count for this melee alone numbering in the hundreds. The Company was victorious but not after heavy losses, including Myles Toyne, who had died in single combat against the Sellsail King. Addam found his corpse after the melee, lying side by side with the dead pirate commander. Myles’ hand still firmly gripped his sword, whose blade was buried in the ribs of the pirate king. Toyne’s helmet, however, had been caved in, a pool of blood forming in the sand and mixing with that of the other fallen. Embittered but with no time to mourn, Addam assumed command of the remaining knights and warriors and led the way into the keep, determined to finish the battle. The fighting here was just as intense, with the knights and mercenaries fighting side-by-side to capture the keep. Memories from all those years ago flooded into his mind. He couldn’t run this time, not now. He would stand and fight. The Redeemed The battle for the Bloodstone courtyard was gruesome; some disarmed men fought with fractured bricks or their bare hands. As the fighting raged on around him, Addam spotted a fellow Westerosi engaged by several pirates. The knight was being attacked from all sides, his steel armour dented and battered, his legs slashed at by long polearms and wickedly sharp cutlasses. Addam felt a burst of energy, rushing into the fray and cleaving into one of the pirates. Helping the knight to his feet, the pair cut their way through the bandits, re-joining with their comrades and clearing out the rest of the defenders. The fighting concluded, the knight turned to thank the mercenary commander, only to stop in shock. As the knight removed his helmet, Addam nearly fainted, both from the raging adrenaline he felt and the pure shock coursing through his veins. It was Ser Alyn, heir to House Mullendore. The two embraced, laughing at the irony of their reunion. As they split, Addam was reminded of his debt from years ago and undid his sword belt, offering the knight his rightful property back. Ser Alyn simply laughed at him and shook his head, instead commanding his old friend to kneel. Addam complied, confused and exhausted. Kneeling in the bloody sand of the courtyard, Addam felt as the flat of Ser Alyn’s sword touched his shoulders. When he rose to his feet, he was Ser Addam Thistle, Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. With the fighting concluded, it was time to gather the dead. Casualties were enormous, though they did not compare to prior conflicts like that of the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Much of the Company gathered for the funeral of Myles Toyne and there was not a single dry eye present. Following the ceremony, the matter at hand was obvious; a new Captain-General had to be chosen. Many were nominated; Harry Strickland, the company’s former paymaster and Ser Franklyn Flowers, a bastard from the Reach both stepped forward. One name, championed by Vogarro, drowned out all others: “Lord Thistle” echoed all over the island, a deafening chorus of mercenaries and sellswords. The new knight found himself at a loss for words, unable to refuse the honour. Thus, it was, by his fourth year in service, Ser Addam was made Captain-General of the Golden Company. The next few days were spent drinking and singing, the men merry from their victory over the pirates and the restoration of trade. Addam confided the truth of his exile in Ser Alyn, apologising for the lack of honesty he had shown years ago. His friend dismissed the apology, retorting that the exile had saved his life twice now and any dishonesty was forfeit. At the week’s end, Ser Alyn and Ser Addam said their farewells for what very well could be the last time, wishing each other good travels and the best of luck. Lord Mullendore had fallen ill and Ser Alyn feared he would soon inherit his father’s titles, else he would have stayed and served alongside his old friend in the Golden Company. As the Westerosi forces departed, so did the Golden Company, in search of new contracts to complete and more gold to fill their coffers. For the next four years, Ser Addam led the Company in the footsteps of his old friend and mentor, Myles, hoping to emulate the same feeling of brotherhood and unity that the old mercenary had. They would journey across the eastern world, lending their services to those who could pay. Over this time, he would find many great friends among the ranks of the Company; Ser Balon Hightower, a fellow Reachman and Arthur Yronwood (surprisingly, a Dornishman) stood out among the many. It was a good life and the Company continued to thrive, maintaining the legacy that preceded it. Now, however, they fight for a different reason. They fight for a home. Soon, they hope to fight for a king. Category:A World of Ice and Fire Category:House Thistle Category:Golden Company Category:Character